Children of Avalon, Page 6

  Even the shivering Sir Dagonet was looking at me now in amazement. He, who was used to magic, looked at me as if I had done something truly extraordinary. I wished I had the energy to ask him why he was looking that way, but I was too far beyond tired. My legs gave out and I sank to the ground, unable to even stand any longer.

  “I don’t know how I did it. I just...” I paused. “I just needed to get out of the water, and so I did,” I explained to the two men with a shrug of my shoulders, even as I curled my knees up against my chest and wrapped my arms around them.

  “Well, let’s get warm first. Then you can see if you can do it again, wot?” Sir Dagonet gave an encouraging smile.

  “I don’t know that I can,” I said, reluctantly allowing Dylan to pull me to my feet. I could barely move, but if I didn’t I would surely die of cold sitting there on the riverbank. Tears threatened me as I realized just how far I was going to have to walk to reach our campfire and my dry clothes.

  Now would be an excellent time to turn back into a bird so that I could fly back to the fire, but there wasn’t an ounce of energy left in me. I could hardly walk.

  Sir Dagonet, too, was pale with exhaustion, but he turned and put his arm around me and supported me all the way back. Resting my head against his shoulder, I forced myself to place one foot in front of the other. Oddly enough, Dylan looked ready to drop as well—even though he didn’t have a drop of water on him.

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  “I don’t understand how we ended up in the river,” I said, dropping to the ground after coming out of the woods where I’d changed into dry clothing. I was still tired. All of my muscles ached, protesting every move I made, but at least my initial exhaustion was beginning to wear off.

  “Nor do I. Quite odd, wot? I woke up in the water.”

  “So did I.” I looked over at Dylan, who was seeing to his horse. “And yet Dylan wasn’t pulled in at all.”

  “He was on the far side of the fire, away from the water, don’t you know?” Sir Dagonet explained.

  I nodded, remembering that that had been the case. Lucky.

  Dylan rejoined us. Was it odd that he didn’t make eye contact with either me or Sir Dagonet? If only he would look at me I would...ah, no. I remembered that I couldn’t hear Dylan’s thoughts. If only I knew what he was thinking...

  Sir Dagonet was nibbling at a piece of bread. It was a good idea. I was famished. I reached into my bag for the bread I’d brought with me. “I’m still quite tired from the water and, I suppose, from flying.”

  Sir Dagonet nodded, a little twinkle lighting up his eyes. “Not surprising. That was a lot of magic you did, wot?”

  I stopped as the realization of what I’d done hit me. Whenever I had performed magic it had been intentional, conscious. How had this suddenly become something I just did naturally? It had felt good. Normal. I couldn’t help shaking my head in astonishment.

  “Doing magic makes you tired?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes. Weren’t you tired after removing my sword from the tree?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  Sir Dagonet nodded. “Using magic is like using your muscles. It takes strength and energy, but the more you do it, the easier it becomes.” He paused to take a drink from his water skin. “I can take off and put on my armor without a thought because I do it every day, but ask me to move something larger or heavier and it would take a great deal out of me, don’t you know.”

  I nodded. “That makes sense. It doesn’t take any energy for me to hear what other people are thinking because I do it all the time, but, as you say, I was very tired after moving the sword, and I’m still exhausted from turning into a bird.”

  “What do you mean, ‘hear’ what other people are thinking?” Dylan asked, his eyes widening a little.

  I gave a guilty little shrug. “When I look into someone’s eyes, I...I just know what they are thinking at that moment—except for you. I tried to hear your thoughts yesterday but couldn’t for some reason,” I admitted rather sheepishly. “Normally I know right away what someone is thinking when I look at them, but from you there was absolute silence.”

  He nodded, his expression serious. “I keep my mind closed to others. You should, too, if you can.”

  “You keep your mind closed?” I asked, amazed that such a thing was possible.

  “That’s handy! How did you learn to do such a thing?” Sir Dagonet asked, clearly as intrigued, and possibly as suspicious, as I was now.

  Why would someone always have such protection, like armor covering their mind, as if they were expecting someone to attack them at any time? It seemed like an unnecessary precaution—unless you had something to hide.

  Dylan shrugged. “I just figured it out. My tutor could listen in on the thoughts of others, so I learned to block out her intrusions.”

  A laugh burst out of me, dispelling some of the tension. “That would be awkward if you hadn’t done what you were supposed to. She would know right away, wouldn’t she?”

  Dylan gave a small smile. “As I say, I learned pretty young to close my mind to others.”

  “But you can open your mind if you want to?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes.” He looked at me and, without opening his mouth, said silently, “But I always keep it closed, just as a precaution. You never know when someone might be listening.”

  I gasped. “You projected your voice into my mind!” It was incredible. How did he do that?

  Dylan gave me a mischievous smile. “You can probably do it, too, if you try.”

  A shiver of excitement ran through me. I could try it. I was beginning to thoroughly enjoy testing out new magic and trying to find the limits of my abilities.

  I was so excited at the prospect of trying out the new magic that I pushed aside my suspicions of Dylan for the moment and reached inside of my own mind. Looking at him, I silently projected the words “I’m trying. Can you hear me?” at Dylan.

  “Yes, that’s right. It was strong and clear. Normally, I can’t hear what others are thinking, but I could hear you because you put the words into my mind.”

  I laughed and clapped my hands. I could feel the effort that it had taken to do that small bit of magic, but it was so little that I could dismiss it easily. If nothing else, I was learning new magic from Dylan. But he was always on his guard... My worries poked at me.

  Sir Dagonet heaved himself up off the ground. “We’ve spent the whole morning here. About time we set off, wot?”

  Dylan stood up as well, although much more reluctantly.

  “I’m still tired,” I admitted, “but not so much that I can’t travel on, especially on horseback.”

  “There’s the girl!” Sir Dagonet said with approval. He turned to Dylan, who was gathering up his saddlebag. “And you’re getting some of your energy back, too, Dylan?”

  Dylan started and jumped back as if Sir Dagonet had just jabbed a knife at him. “Me? I have no lack of energy.”

  “No? You seemed to be quite worn out after our little adventure in the river.” The smile on Sir Dagonet’s face didn’t quite reach his eyes, but I forced myself to stay out of his thoughts. “Maybe it was just the excitement of the moment or the rushing water, wot?”

  I glanced over at the river now. It was as calm as it had been the day before. So how was it that it had turned into such a violent, raging maelstrom earlier that morning? It didn’t make any sense.

  Dylan turned away to place his saddlebags on his horse’s back, but didn’t answer Sir Dagonet.

  Could Dylan have had something to do with the river rising? Was that why he was tired, because he’d used a lot of magic churning up the river? Was it even possible that he could have turned such a placid stream into the raging river I had experienced?

  I didn’t know enough about magic or the limits of it—but if I could make clouds move, maybe Dylan could affect the movement of the water.

  It was rather scary that he could, and would, do something like that—but it wasn’t something I could dismis
s, not in light of his already suspicious behavior.

  Still, the thought terrified me. If it were true, then Dylan had tried to kill me and Sir Dagonet.

  Chapter Ten

  Nimuë stared into the water of Avalon. After smelling it again after so many years, she found herself going back to it again and again.

  She missed her home.

  How ridiculous! She was not a child any longer. Yes, she had spent most of her life on that island, but she had not been back for almost two hundred years—not since she had closed the mists in on it. Not since she had trapped Merlin in that tree.

  The world had died a little when Merlin had no longer been a part of it. She had felt it. Everyone, even the lay people, had felt it.

  But, still, she did not regret it. She did not regret entombing him, not for an instant. “Merlin had simply outlived his usefulness,” she murmured to herself.

  “Do you really think so?”

  The voice caught Nimuë unawares. She started, looking around her room. The bed, wardrobe, trunk—all were as normal. There was no one there.

  “Nimuë, tell me you do not miss him. Tell me you do not miss the way things were,” the voice said again.

  This time Nimuë looked down at the water in front of her. Her sister’s visage shimmered in the slightly undulating liquid.

  She had hardly changed a bit. But then, time moved very differently on Avalon than it did here in the outside world. Morgan le Fey’s strawberry blonde hair had only the slightest touch of silver glittering within it. Perhaps there were a few more lines around her pale blue eyes, but certainly nothing that said that she was well over two hundred years old.

  “Sister! What a surprise,” Nimuë exclaimed with honest joy.

  “You are looking well, Nimuë,” Morgan said, cocking her head a little to the side as she looked up at her.

  “Of course. My magic is strong. Although I live in this world, I still age as if I were on Avalon.” Nimuë chided herself silently for her curt answer. Why could she never speak nicely to Morgan? She had not seen her sister for a long time. She had missed her, but still she could not speak to her in anything other than a churlish voice.

  “And yet, the years pass by so much more quickly for you. It does not, however, stop you from remembering, or thinking about your old...alliances, shall we say?” A sly smile crept over Morgan’s beautiful face.

  “If you are referring to Merlin, you know we had more than just an alliance.”

  “But you never truly loved him. You bore him a child, and yet your heart was left untouched.”

  Nimuë suppressed a grimace of pain as her sister’s words cut straight into her heart. Morgan would never know, never understand the love she’d had for Merlin. “I suppose you loved Arthur with your heart and soul, then?” she said, as always, swapping blow for blow.

  Morgan’s face lost any trace of a smile. “Yes, I did. And I still do.”

  “Which is why he still lies there in state.”

  “And will do so until the time is right.”

  “Yes, yes, until the world needs him again,” Nimuë said with an exaggerated sigh.

  “Until they are ready for him.” Morgan’s words were clipped with anger.

  Nimuë sighed for real this time. It was the same old thing. Honestly, her sister never changed.

  “Now tell me, sister.” Morgan interrupted Nimuë’s thoughts. “What is it that makes you think so hard of Avalon and Merlin? What is it that has called me to you once more?”

  Nimuë paused. She had not realized that her thoughts would draw her sister to her—she had forgotten. “The prophecy,” she answered shortly.

  “Ah, the prophecy. Merlin’s last. Yes, I remember it well. Has it begun?”

  “I have seen two of the three children in the water. They are grown, but the three have not yet met.”

  “And the chalice?”

  Nimuë scowled. “I do not know where it might be.”

  Morgan nodded, clearly enjoying her sister’s ignorance.

  “It does not matter. It will not come into play,” Nimuë insisted.

  “So you will kill the Children of Avalon before they have had a chance to find it?” Morgan asked dispassionately.

  Nimuë gave a little shrug. “Of course. He allowed for the possibility that I would do so.” She paused. “He knew me well,” she said, her voice softened, remembering.

  She pushed away her memories—they would not serve her now. She had much more important things that concerned her. “They are no match for me. I will stop them,” she added with deadly quiet.

  “ ‘One will gain the power of three...’ ” her sister quoted.

  “ ‘And the mightiest force in the world will be,’ ” Nimuë finished. “I assure you, I have not forgotten. I will not kill them right away. Unless there is no other alternative, I will keep them alive until I have gained their powers.”

  “Capturing them will be much trickier than simply killing them,” Morgan pointed out.

  “I know. But while they are adults in this world, in ours they are little more than children, after all. It should not be a problem.”

  Morgan nodded. “Good luck with that.” She smiled. An unseen breeze blew across the water and her sister disappeared into the ripples.

  Nimuë stood staring into the silver bowl for another few minutes. The vision of the girl, the redhead, came to her mind and suddenly she knew exactly who it was the child had reminded her of. It was her sister! She had the same smile. The same mouth.

  Of course! The Lady’s line. The prophecy had said that two of the children would be of the Lady’s line. Naturally, Merlin was referring to Morgan. And of his own blood—that would be the boy with her face. Nimuë smiled. He may be of Merlin’s blood, but he had her own handsome visage.

  After two hundred years, her and Morgan’s own descendants were going to try to destroy her. How ironic! Merlin did always enjoy a good joke.

  Well, as Morgan had said, good luck with that. Nimuë laughed.

  Chapter Eleven

  With effort, I pulled my attention away from Dylan, who had now mounted his horse. Sir Dagonet suggested that I ride sitting sideways to accommodate my skirts. I nodded, accepting his hand to help me onto his horse. I didn’t feel quite as secure as I had riding astride, but it was certainly more comfortable—and my legs weren’t showing indecently as they had been.

  As it neared nightfall, Sir Dagonet and Dylan began looking about for a likely place to stop for the night. A sound caught my attention. Dylan seemed to hear it, too, because he turned suddenly and looked at me.

  “What is it?” Sir Dagonet asked.

  “Someone’s in great distress. Can you feel it, Scai?” Dylan asked.

  “I can’t feel another’s emotions, but I hear it,” I said, as Dylan dismounted. He took a few hesitant steps toward the woods that clung to the road we were following. A trickle of a stream led from between the trees and emptied into the river to our right.

  Tying his horse to a tree, he disappeared into the woods.

  I dropped down off of Sir Dagonet’s horse and followed him.

  I found him squatting next to a woman who was huddled over the stream. The woman was on her knees, rocking back and forth, her face hidden in her hands.

  “It’s all right, now. It’s all right,” Dylan murmured.

  I noticed that the woman’s shoulders were shaking as if she were laughing—or crying. Squatting down on the ground on the other side of her, I gently placed my hand on her shoulder. “Please, let us help you.”

  The woman looked up at me. Her eyes were filled with tears and despair. She shook head. “You can’t. There is nothing that you can do.” She buried her face in her hands once again.

  “Her husband has left her,” I projected into Dylan’s mind, not wanting to say the harsh words out loud. “He’s gone to serve the local lord, to fight for him. She doesn’t know what she’s going to do without her husband. She loves him deeply and is afraid he’ll be killed
.”

  Dylan caught my eyes. “Thanks, I’ll see what I can do now.”

  He turned back to the woman, clearly dismissing me. But I wasn’t ready to leave him alone with her. I wasn’t certain I trusted him enough, so I stood up and moved away, but stayed within sight.

  Dylan settled himself down onto the ground next to the woman, placed his hand gently on her shoulder and began speaking to her in a soothing voice. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, he was speaking too softly, but the woman stopped her rocking and turned her tear–stained face to Dylan’s, listening to his words.

  She then began to speak to him. She told him of her life and her family—four children and her husband’s parents. They all lived together in the village not too far from here. But the local lord had come looking for men. He’d offered them a huge amount of money if they would come with him. Her husband couldn’t pass up the opportunity, but she desperately wished that he had.

  “He’s going to return to you,” Dylan told the woman.

  Her eyes grew wary. “How do you know this?”

  But Dylan just shrugged his shoulders. “I just know. Do you believe me?”

  The woman thought about it for a moment and then slowly nodded her head.

  “Good. Because it’s true. He’s going to come back to you. It may not be for some time, but eventually, he will be back. Until then, you and your children will be fine.” He spoke with absolute certainty, and something else. There was something else in his voice—a touch of magic, perhaps? I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was more. There had to be because the woman looked very calm now and almost happy.

  “That was a very good thing you did,” I said, after the woman had left to return to her home.

  Dylan stopped short at my words.

  I had waited for him just inside of the woods by the road. I didn’t know what to think of him anymore. Only that morning I had believed him capable of intentionally harming, perhaps even killing, myself and Sir Dagonet, and now he had been so kind to this stranger, using his magic and his words to make her feel better and allay her fears. So which was he, good or bad? I couldn’t figure it out. It was disturbing.